Clutch
by misssun1
Summary: Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger were happy the way things were, even if it was all a bit nebulous. However life has a way of biting you in the ass, a fact very familiar to both Hermione and Tom. How will they handle life's oldest challenge? Drabble, Tomione, EWE
1. The Reveal

Discovering her pregnancy had been terrifying. Hermione had tried the catch-all diagnostic spell on a whim, tired of the nausea and soreness, but she had expected a fever or the flu or mono, not pregnancy. She ran to the drug store immediately, still clad in slippers and her silky green bathrobe he liked so much, and bought out all the pregnancy tests available; twenty, in five different brands. Not that muggle pregnancy tests were known for their veracity, but she was muggle-born damnit and muggle technology had never let her down before. Over the course of three hours, she drank enough cranberry juice to make herself sick and peed on twenty-six sticks that she arrayed throughout the bathroom, before she finally admitted to herself, angry tears stinging her eyes, that she was, in fact, pregnant.

That realization caused the blood to drain from her face in abrupt terror; how would she tell the father?

* * *

Tom Marvolo Riddle was, contrary to what his name suggested, a simple man. He disliked most everything the world had to offer, as he had learned at a young age that those offerings were just there to tease children before being torn away with cruel amusement. However, that made the few things he liked all the more precious. Perhaps precious enough to be described as 'loved'.

He liked magic, with all of its whimsy and bloody depths, and he had mastered it all (in part, thanks to her). In mastering magic, he had learned that power belonged to him and him alone, and that only he could control the wretched world. The first go-round had been a bit of a muck-up; dying to an unexceptional teen was more than his ego could really handle. Although, he admitted grudgingly, the crazed, giggly, volatile monster he had become truly needed to be put down like a rabid dog. The monster had been a crazed Chihuahua, but Voldemort was Tom's crazed Chihuahua; he should have been holding the knife that went into that yippy bastards eye-socket and ripped out his brain matter. But he held no grudge against the boy, truly. Not at all.

She looked at him with suspicious knowing, but let him crow all he wanted about how the boy-who-lived had saved him, while he secretly tried to figure out the boy's favorite tea so he might poison it one night. She seemed to be a step ahead of him, as she always tossed out old tea the boy had, declaring the flavors faded and musty. She was even more beautiful for her meddling and it took every fiber of patience and will power he had cultivated throughout his long life to not to fuck her on that dark oak dining table in front of the Potters.

He liked, to his initial disbelief, the Muggle practice of science. It was wrong on some things, alchemy, gravity, and time travel to name a few, but overall the practicality and ingenuity it fostered was right up his alley. The 'scientists' had a strange reverence for rules that he so proudly flaunted and sometimes he wanted to fly into the air before throwing a well-aimed Avada at his coworkers faces. But their love of rules was truly no different than that of the wizards, so he could contain himself in the lab before Apparating home and ranting to her for however long she would listen. Take that, Einstein. In fact, in a show of his usual genius, he excelled through Oxford University at an accelerated rate, and graduated with his PhD in Chemistry in the shortest time of any muggle in recorded history (although, if he were being honest they had not been able to use copious memory modification charms to test out of the mind-numbing Gen Eds). Doctor Tim Doramov had then basked as she commenced several vigorous rounds of congratulation in various new and exciting locations across the Isles. After they had returned home, she fell asleep and he Apparated to Dumbledore's grave in full doctoral regalia and pissed on it. Old coot.

What he liked most was the witch who had raised him from Purgatory. He was not quite sure how, a fact that niggled at the back of his mind like a bloody Puffskein, but he certainly knew why. Revenge was a bedfellow he held near and dear to his blackened heart. When he first opened his blue eyes, all he saw was a flash of golden skin before his head was cracked to the side from the force of a bludgeoning punch. Things had continued downhill from there for some time, before they suddenly did not. Through righteous fury and biting interrogation she found something she liked, and then loved, and he found someone he liked quite much. The first time they kissed reminded him of the time he had managed to steal his first bite of stale chocolate at the orphanage; warm and smooth and sweet and heavenly. She had disappeared for several days after that, disrupting the routine most heinously, before returning and picking up where she left off on her interrogation. He vowed to taste her lips again. The first time they fucked made his mind go blank with bliss, something he had never experienced before, but something he wanted to feel again and again. This time she stayed. And the first time she said she loved him, well, he still was not quite sure how he felt about that strange bubbling warmth that erupted whenever he saw even a glimpse of her. He was even more confused when she removed his bindings and told him to get out, so to be contrary more than anything else, he refused and continued to impose on her burgeoning generosity. It was worth it to see the look of jumbled longing in her eyes whenever she looked at him with her expressive brown eyes. He wondered if his eyes reflected that when he saw her; they had always been cold and calculating before. He wanted them to, if only to make Hermione happy.

* * *

Hermione chewed on her fingernails, a habit she had stopped when she was nine, and paced in front of the door. Tom would be home soon and he would want to know why their bathroom stank of cranberry juice and pee. He was inordinately attached to tidiness and routine for a previously mad dark wizard. She could have cleaned it all, but having the smell linger was impetus for actually telling him today, instead of when her water broke. She winced. He would probably not be amused by the mess of childbirth. He was not amused by much.

Hermione did not hear anything when he Apparated onto the doorway, but then again she never did. He was the only true living master of Apparition. She did, however, feel the wards shift and let him through without a protest.

He opened the door with a sneer, donned in his perfectly-pressed Muggle labcoat. "Those imbeciles insist that I cannot chan—"

"I'm pregnant!" She slapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Tim Doramov, Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort was speechless.

The silence extended for a long moment before Tom blinked, wiping the frozen sneer from his face, "It's about time. How many are there?"

Her hand slipped from her mouth and she stared at him in puzzlement, repeating, "How many are there?"

He frowned and walked up to her, putting his long hands firmly on her stomach, "You should be able to feel the number if you're patient. Before Nagini laid her clutch, I felt twenty-one." He pulled up her shirt and his fingers started digging into her abdomen, "You're squishier, so this should be easier." She stared at him in horrified shock as he stared intently at her stomach, "Four?"

"Didn't you take a year of biology?!"

After ninety-years, Tom Riddle finally received the Talk and learned yet another difference between snakes and humans. He was a little disappointed that his exceptional Hermione was only making a single clone of him, but he supposed it would have to do.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Just a silly little Tomione fic, inspired by Ternion of Trouble by dulce. de. leche. go

To be continued~


	2. The Issue

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, followed and faved! Continuation of the silly little pregnancy fic with Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger!

* * *

Tom could not help it, watching her rub her stomach with that dopey, loving look on her face. Her hand paused and her face lit up, a sign that the little asshole was kicking _again_. The brat was probably doing it on purpose. He huffed and Apparated out of the room without thinking, causing a loud crack and a confused yelp from Hermione. At that point, he was several dozen kilometers away, much too far to hear her distress, on a rickety stool in the Three Broomsticks at Hogsmeade Village. He had several decent memories there, memories that would calm his temper enough to prevent him from cursing Hermione's adorable, smug, pregnant face. It would not do as she did not have a horcrux yet. An argument he intended to renew before she brought his child into the world.

The barkeep stared at him with her mouth dropped open and he belatedly remembered that it was in poor taste to Apparate into an establishment; etiquette Lord Voldemort never had to consider. He glanced down and noted that he had displaced another patron with his appearance, although he did not think the snoring heap on the ground had noticed the abrupt change. His cool gaze travelled back up to the barkeep, "Firewhiskey-double. Neat. Now."

The woman sent him a glare, something he would have to punish her for after she finished serving him, but trundled to the other end of the bar to get his drink. Time was ticking. She had ten seconds until her much-deserved Stinging Hex turned into a Crucio. Nine…Eight…

* * *

Hermione clenched the quill between her fingers, a blot of ink leaking across the parchment. After a long second, her brown eyes refocused on the stained page and she growled, crumpling up the paper and tossing it into growing pile of ink-dotted pages. Something had to be done about Tom's moodiness; a moody Tom Riddle was a horrifying prospect and she had no one to demand advice from.

Her parents were still in Australia, obliviously happy with their dental practice on Wallaby Lane. Apparently, they had taken to diving and collecting exotic fish off the Barrier, which she found to be rather reprehensible. Did they not understand that the coral reef ecosystem was critically endangered? Even the removal of a single clownfish could start a chain reaction of events culminating in dangerous results. But she could not lecture them about that, not anymore, nor could she ask their advice, even if the questions were a bit out of their wheelhouse.

Harry, Ginny, and Ron, well, they had been… compromised. It had been her idea, and frankly she considered it rather elegant and brilliant, especially considering Tom's suggestions of killing them and transfiguring the bodies into figurines (he had started watching Yugioh and enjoyed the villains' campy punishments). Instead of that terrible idea, she went into their homes while they slept and simply replaced all their memories of young Lord Voldemort with Tom's memories of Regulus Black. The two looked similar enough that it was not even full Obliviate. Later, when the three were introduced to Hermione's new boyfriend, the brilliant Dr. Tim Doramov, they had fallen over themselves to make him feel welcome and included in the family. Although Harry had asked her once if Tim thought they had dated before; apparently old habits died hard and Tom had taken to glaring at Harry whenever Hermione was not looking. Considering his previous interactions with the Golden Trio, Hermione considered it a victory, however slight. The current issue was the three would simply not understand why Hermione was the tiniest bit wary around her scientist boyfriend. To them, he was an antisocial nerd who had a soft spot for Hermione. They had never seen Tom torture someone he disliked.

That left her alone with the question that had been glaring at her at least once daily; why was Tom so upset? He been genuinely excited to learn of his progeny and had even taken the helm in creating and decorating the newest bedroom. While she would never tell him to his face, that offset window seat was truly a stroke of genius and the creamy mint green walls were perfectly gender neutral for whatever child came from her womb. What was making him so aggravated, so, so—Her eyes narrowed, suddenly recalling one of their few serious arguments.

The last time she had seen him like this was when she had not agreed to Imperius Crookshanks to like him. Besides being an offensively stupid idea, she would never touch her familiar with an Unforgivable. If he wanted Crookshanks to like him, he should not be so bloody immoral and incomprehensible; also, feeding the cat in the morning when he was supposed to would have gone a long way. Instead, after he realized Hermione would not back down, he had taken to throwing raw meat in the cat's direction whenever he entered a room. It worked well enough, even if their carpet now had minute blood spots all over it.

A realization slowly dawned on her as all his recent irritating actions replayed in her mind. The moron was not mad; he was jealous. She dropped the quill and sat back in the arm chair, a disbelieving chuckle escaping. The dope was jealous that the child was growing inside of her. She licked her lips and looked over at one of the many bookshelves lining the study walls. It was time to do some research.

* * *

It had been almost three hours and the cunt was ordering him to leave her pub, whinging about stinging hexes and inappropriate language. Not that he wanted to be at the bloody pub anymore, not with the bitch cunt shrieking in his ear. He backed off the stool, accidentally kicking the stool over as he stood on uncooperative feet. He was not drunk, the bitch-biscuit probably just cast a jelly—he halted that train of thought immediately. No way a stupid cunt-bitch-muffin could ever get a spell over on him, the mighty and powerful Lord Voldemort. As he stood, wobbling to and fro at the slightest breeze, the sounds of the barkeep's annoying whines modulating in his ears, he suddenly let out a belch and collapsed. Darkness closed in.

* * *

Tom awoke to an unfamiliar song, but after a moment, he recognized the scratchy sound of the record player he had relieved from the Gaunt household. That meant…He opened his eyes to bright splotches of light. A hiss tore from his lips and he rolled over, stuffing his face into the pillow that smelled like her. As if he had summoned her with the thought, a dainty hand settled onto his shoulder, "Wake up, you slug." Whoops. Hermione was definitely not happy if she was calling him slug. But why was she—Memories from earlier trickled in and the last thing he remembered was a rank burp and then the barkeep screaming.

A wand prodded against the back of his neck, causing goose pimples to erupt all over his body. She was serious. He flapped a hand, the signal that he was listening and rolled over, careful not to upset the wand placement. "Good morning."

"Evening." She stated crisply, wand pointed remaining level at his Adam's apple. "You went off and got pissed at two in the afternoon. It's only just eight now."

That explained the low light of their bedroom, but it did not explain how he had gotten back. The last time he had gotten that drunk was with Hermione, on their third date. That had ended in arson, wanking each other off in some coot's office in the ministry, and a trip to get his stomach pumped at the Muggle Emergency Room. He did not know why they insisted on using those bloody loud ambulances for people just trying to have a good time and he proceeded to direct the service providers in a better way to transport their patrons, but Hermione had shut him up with a well-placed Silencio. And that had even been tame, compared to the first time he had that much to drink (good thing Abraxas-fucking-Malfoy was no longer alive to gleefully recount that story).

"It was not my intention. I did not mean to inconvenience you." Tom stated. He would never apologize, he was not sure he was physically capable of it, but the admittance would assuage her.

"Hmm." Hermione looked down her wand at him for another minute, before setting it on the dresser and grabbing a thick, blue potion. "Drink this."

He sighed in relief and was halfway through the potion before he realized that it was not the proper color of the Hangover cure and that these little slippery balls of something were mixed in. His blue eyes went wide, but before he could spit it out, Hermione leaned to his face, staring at him with the steely brown eyes that had engineered Voldemort's destruction and hissed, "Drink."

Tom stared at her for a long second before he drained the rest of the bottle and swallowed. Hermione sat back on the bed with a satisfied smile and pressed her hand to her swollen stomach. He felt familiar annoyance bubble in his chest, before a sudden tap came from the inside of his abdomen. He looked down at it, before sending an accusing look to her, "What did you give me?"

She held up a finger in the universal 'wait' motion, and looked down at her own stomach expectantly. Tom felt another bump against his abdominal muscles, and she looked up at him with a gleeful smile.

His frown deepened, "Well?"

Hermione let out a laugh as her eyes began to water with whatever pregnancy hormones she had, "It's your child Tom." She placed grabbed his hand and placed it against her own protruding stomach.

He started to say something, but he lost all words when he felt two taps, one at his hand and one within his own body. To his utter confusion and dismay, he felt an unstoppable grin slink onto his face. "You can feel your child like I do."

Tom pressed both of his hands to his own stomach and stared down at the trim planes of muscle in awe, basking in the feelings of the kicks of his child. He did not think he had ever been happier.

Until Hermione decided to ruin the moment by kissing his nose and whispering in that teasing tone of hers, "My seahorse man."

* * *

Feel free to message me any Tom/Hermione ideas you want to see. Hope to hear from you guys, and have a Happy Thanksgiving :)


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